Learning To Love Again
by insomniaddict24601
Summary: The best way to keep your heart from breaking is to convince everyone around you that you don't have one.
1. Prologue

There's a short man walking to the bus station. He's rolling a suitcase behind him and has a tattered black backpack slung over his shoulder. He has dark brown, messy hair, like he just got out of bed and didn't have time to get ready. His dress shirt is rumpled and half tucked into his pants, half not. He has an old cell phone against his ear.

"Hey, so we have a bit of a problem." he says to the person on the end of the line. Then a pause as they respond.

"Your mom kind of kicked me out." he explains. The voice on the other end is louder this time, but not enough to make out any words. The man's eyebrows shoot up and he holds back a smile.

"No need for violence. We just had an argument. I'm sure it'll blow over soon." he says, trying to calm the person on the other line, but they won't have any of it. They continue yelling and he winces several times throughout their rant. He sighs and takes his seat on the bench, running a hand through his unruly brown hair.

"You're wrong, you know. I do know your mom. She is not a slut. She's a beautiful woman who's caught in a tough situation. Cut her some slack, okay. She's trying." The love in his eyes is clear whether it's for the woman he's talking about or the woman he's talking too.

"Tell you what. Give her a day or two. I'll call her soon and maybe we can work things out." he reasons, examining the grime covering his shoelaces.

"I want you to keep an eye on her, okay? Promise me." he asks. He smiles at the person's soft response.

"Alright. Go home and get some sleep okay? Don't tire yourself out." He waits for their reply staring blankly at the cafe across the street from him.

"She needs you right now. Plus, you promised." he reminds the voice on the other end.

"Nice show, by the way. You guys really outdid yourself with the pudding segment." The person on the line says something and he smiles.

"Of course. Every week. I'll always watch you. Wait. That sounds stalkerish." he laughs. The bus pulls up, the brakes make a loud screech as it comes to a halt in front of the bench. The man grabs his suitcase and hoists it up the steps.

"Alright. I have to go. The bus is here. I love you."


	2. Chapter 1

**I don't own iCarly**

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><p>Life is flat out unfair sometimes. And there's really nothing we can do about it. Sure, we make decisions and choose our own path and all that shit, but it's really all up to fate. If this is true, fate really has it out for Sam Puckett. As if she hasn't already been through enough for one lifetime. When she hears Bernie's voice on the other end of the line, she knows.<p>

"Hey, so we have a bit of a problem."

And that's when everything that has been solid in her world for the past few years comes crashing down around her, all at once. Just because of three stupid, perfect, passionate words. Because of a stubborn personality and a selfishness that has been fermenting since Sam's father left.

Who knew that 'I love you' could do so much damage? Who knew that a word like love could be taken and used for the exact opposite? Sam is sick and tired of forgetting about fate and then being reminded of it just when her guard comes down. No matter how much she wants to believe it, her mother is incapable of any emotions aside from lust, craving, and scorn. So why let herself believe anything different? Easy. Because of Bernie.

"Love you, too. Bye." she whispers into the mouthpiece before pulling the cell phone away from her ear and hanging up.

"Boyfriend?" Freddie asks. Sam shakes her head.

"Mom's boyfriend." Her voice is lacking her trademark sarcastic edge and is replaced instead by an unstable shakiness. He's only heard it once before, right after he pulled her out of a window from a broken window washer's platform. His eyes leave his computer screen and meet hers, immediately seeing the tears that she's trying to contain. He doesn't know what to do. Sam doesn't cry in front of him. It's an unspoken law. He shuts his computer and she folds her arms, staring down at her sharpie-covered high-tops, trying her best to hide her trembling shoulders and the tear tracing its way down her cheek, leaving a blurry trail of mascara. So much for waterproof, huh girls?

"You okay?" he asks slowly, unsure of what to do, but starting to head in her direction. She looks up, the tears flowing freely now, and drags her sleeve across her eyes.

"Not really." she mumbles before sprinting out of the room and down the stairs. Her footsteps echo in his head as he tries to register what he just saw. He realizes seconds later that he can't just let her run out, and follows her path out the door, reaching the foot of the stairs and watching her run out the front door.

"Sam? Sam, wait!" The door slams behind her.

"Dammit, Sam." he whispers as he fumbles with the doorknob before swinging it open. Sam is sitting near the synthetic plant in the corner of the hallway, one great, big, tearful mess. Freddie suddenly doesn't know what to do. He knew he had to follow her, but he hasn't thought ahead past that. He crouches down beside her and reaches an arm around her trembling shoulders.

"What happened? What's wrong?" he whispers.

"Get away from me! I don't need your help!" she yells, but it's half-hearted and Freddie ignores her.

"Sam! Listen to me! Please? What's wrong?" She takes a shaky breath, resulting in another fit of sobbing.

"I don't know where I'm going!" Sam chokes through her tears, eyes squeezed shut. "I can't go home because my mom's probably already drunk or something but I promised Bernie that I would go anyways and make sure she didn't do anything stupid. I, I don't know. I'm just sick of not having a place to come home to. It's stupid." She turns toward him, burying her face in his chest as he runs his fingers through her tangled blonde hair. They sit there in the hallway like this for a few minutes, Freddie whispering comforting words into her ear and rocking her back and forth until her gasping sobs slow into a silent tear every now and then. He pulls back and wipes a few tears away with his thumb before standing up and offering her his hand.

"Come on." Sam is too weak to refuse as he leads her into his empty apartment. She takes a seat on one of the leather barstools as he searches the fridge for any food that Sam wouldn't be disgusted by. He gives up within a matter of seconds and instead brings out a box of fat-cakes from the cabinet above the stove.

"My mom never uses this cabinet. It's mostly filled with pipes anyways. So if you're ever raiding my house, that's where the junk food is." This earns a smile out of Sam. But it fades much too fast to satisfy Freddie. He's never seen her this upset. She can usually hide something like this. It must be bad.

"Why are you doing this?" she asks all of a sudden.

"Because I'm your friend. Will you tell me what happened?" he asks, trying to put any persuasive powers he had (so, like, none) into his voice. Sam's fork comes down hard in the middle of the fat-cake before she speaks, so he knows instantly who it's about.

"My mom's a bitch, that's what happened. But you knew that." she says.

"What did she do?"

"The usual." Sam shrugs.

"Explain?" Sam sighs and pushes the fat-cake away without taking a single bite.

"Lei gli disse di uscire. Così se ne andò. Lei è una cagna. Ho promesso che si sarebbe preso cura di lei. Non posso farlo. I hate her." Freddie blinks a few times, stunned by the rant she just let loose in Italian, speaking so fast that she had to have either rehearsed it, or she's incredibly fluent in the language. He wonders who taught her, because she sure didn't learn it at school. He browses his memory, frantically flipping through the ten or so Italian words he knows.

"Sega. Non parlo Italiano." he smirks, pretty sure that he's butchered the easiest Italian phrase in the books but not really caring, and she raises her eyebrows at his choppy speech and poor pronunciation. Sam laughs for the first time that night and shakes her head.

"Dork. My mom broke up with her boyfriend and she's a bitch so my life sucks. But that's a rather loose translation." Freddie can tell she's angry. She spits each word out, as if just saying it aloud makes her want to kill someone. Freddie doesn't know what to say.

"I'm sorry, Sam." She looks at him with a confused expression.

"Why on earth are you sorry? It's not your fault, it's mine." She stands up and slips her phone into her back pocket. "Look. Thanks, but I really have to go. I promised Bernie I'd make sure she was okay. Maybe I can talk some sense into her while I'm at it."

"Wait. Why is it your fault." He asks, standing up.

"You wouldn't understand." Freddie grabs her arm, pulling her towards him.

"Try me." He whispers in her ear. Sam takes a shaky breath and opens her mouth to explain.

"It's my fault because I let myself get attached to him. I actually believed that it wasn't going to end like every other relationship my mom has ever had. So now he's gone, and it sucks. And it's my fault."

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><p><strong>Do I really need to say it after each chapter? Whatever. Please review?<strong>


	3. Chapter 2

**I don't own iCarly**

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><p>A short man walks down the bustling sidewalks of Seattle with a three year-old boy on his shoulders. He arrives at the door of a small coffee shop on the corner. Just some little family-run nook. But it makes killer coffee and does pretty well for something the size of a public restroom. The bell rings as he pushes open the door and sets the child down on the linoleum. The boy heads to the plastic pastry case, a stack of chocolate chip cookies immediately catching his eye. His father smiles and asks the girl at the counter for their drinks, along with one of the cookies and a muffin. She smiles and gets right on it. He pulls out his cell phone and stoops down to his son's eye level.<p>

"I'm going to call Sammy, okay? So you're going to need to be extra quiet." The boy nods and heads to the window, watching in fascination as the business men and hookers walk by.

"Hey. You're up." Bernie says into the phone. Sam says something and he looks guilty.

"Oh. Sorry." He had forgotten that it was the weekend. She usually slept until ten, at least. It wasn't even eight yet.

"Yeah. We're getting breakfast right now." he replies, glancing towards the window to check on Tony. Sam asks something and he smiles, handing the phone to his son.

"You can tell him yourself."

"Hello?" Tony asks into the phone. He fumbles to keep it against his ear with one hand and quickly switches it to two.

"Hey, Tony. It's Sam."

"Hi."

"Did you sleep good last night?"

"Yes. Daddy brought Booka."

"Lucky you. Where did you go to bed last night?"

"The really big white place with the lots of people."

"The shelter?"

"Yes."

"I thought you were afraid of the shelter?"

"I am."

"You were brave, then. I'll bet Booka helped though, huh? He kept you safe?"

"Yes. And Maritza."

"Oh that's right. Maritza works weekend now doesn't she?"

"What?"

"Nothing. Never mind. What's daddy getting you for breakfast?"

"Coffee!"

"Oh really?"

"No. He says he's just getting me hot chocolate. And, and, and a cookie too."

"That sounds like a pretty yummy breakfast."

"Yeah. Daddy's just having coffee and something icky."

"Something icky, huh? What is it?"

"I dunno. It has icky wheat stuff on the crust. Oh, wait, he wants to talk to you."

"Okay. I love you, Tony."

"I love you, too."

"Hey Sam."

"Hey. Uh, what are you eating for breakfast? I think Tony's description might have been slightly biased."

"All-bran muffin."

"Oh."

"How'd it go last night? Was she okay?"

"She was, uh, she wasn't too bad. We weren't missing more than one bottle of wine and the one she left on the counter wasn't completely empty."

"That's good to hear."

"Although I'll have to be honest, the place reeked of pot when I came home. The police would have a field day at our house. I'm glad you guys got out of there when you did. I don't want Tony exposed to that."

"But you're okay with him growing up in homeless shelters?"

"You know that's not what I mean."

"I know. I'm sorry. I'm just a little on edge. I didn't sleep well last night."

"I know what you mean."

"I'm sorry. Look, if you need a break, I'm sure your mother can manage without your help for a day or two."

"Do you want to see her overdose while I'm gone? You haven't grown up with this woman. I know what she's capable of doing while drunk. It's dangerous."

"I'm sorry. God. How did I get myself into this."

"You and me both. You guys doing okay?"

"Yeah. I've got to head off to work in an hour, though and I still have Tony with me. Could you-"

"Yeah. Where are you guys?"

"Starbucks by the harbor."

"Okay, give me, like, five minutes. I'll come pick him up."

"You're a lifesaver, Sam."

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><p><strong>Review? And sorry for the dialogue. I didn't want to add any 'he said she said' since it was all over the phone. If you think it was confusing, let me know in a review and I'll get right on changing it. :D<strong>


	4. Chapter 3

**I don't own iCarly**

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><p>"So I was thinking we could put the giant plastic banana in the corner for the show, but then Spencer had this really weird dream about a giant banana split, so I kind of want to incorporate it into a sketch. What do you think?" Carly explained.<p>

Freddie was standing next to her, both staring at the giant plastic banana in the middle of the living room. One of Socko's friends went to this party where they were... No, you know what? Nevermind. Long story short, Socko ended up with a banana and he gave it to Spencer and Spencer gave it to Carly. Freddie scratched his head, examining what little of the yellow plastic was visible without standing back. Seriously, this thing was enormous. It nearly reached the ceiling.

"Uh, the banana split thing sounds good. We could have you guys sitting on a banana split, or, wait no that's just weird. I don't know. Hold on." Freddie said, pulling his phone out. A picture of Sam flipping him off lit up the screen and he chuckled before pressing talk.

"Greetings, bane of my existence. What's up?" he asked. Carly rolled her eyes and sat down on the couch.

"I need a favor. Are you busy?" Sam asked on the other line. Freddie snorted at her attempt to sound like she actually cared.

"Would it matter?"

"Not at all." Freddie could almost see her smirking on the end of the line.

"What do you need?" he sighed, giving in, as always.

"I'm stuck watching my mom's boyfriend's son. Get your nerdy ass over here and help me." she demanded, expecting no retaliation. And as usual she got none.

"Wait, he has a son?"

"Didn't I just say that?"

"Whatever. Sure, I'll help. Where are you?" he asked, walking over to the door and taking his jacket off the hook.

"My house."

"Okay. Wait, I've never actually been to your house. Where?" he asked.

"Yes you have!"

"Well, yeah, but I was like, six. What's your address?" Freddie clarified.

"Nub. Uh, you know that really old arcade next to the drugstore?"

"I think so?"

"My house is right behind the arcade."

"Lucky. I want to live behind an arcade." he whined, digging in his back pocket to make sure he had his house keys and ignoring Carly's suspicious glances.

"It's not like it's open anymore." Sam replied, clearly not amazed by her backyard.

"Whatever, Princess Puckett. See ya in a few." he said, hanging up the phone and shutting the front door behind him, offering no explanation whatsoever to the brunette on the sofa.

She turned to face the giant banana on her left.

"I guess it's just you and me."

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><p>Freddie walked up to the empty building, smiling when he recognized the faded marks where the letters had spelled out 'ARCADE' years ago. The windows were boarded up and dusty cardboard boxes were stacked up in the doorframe, like someone had just left halfway through the moving process. He pushed up the sleeves of his sweatshirt and moved aside enough of the boxes to slip inside, waiting in the doorway a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim light.<p>

Light was filtering through the side windows, struggling to shine bright between the canopy of trees and the drawn blinds. What little light made it through made it easy to see the dust hanging in the air. But Freddie didn't need to see it to know that it was there. There was so much of it that he could reach out and almost feel the grainy texture surrounding him, seeping into his throat.

He took a deep breath, doing his best to block the painful flashbacks of all the times he and Sam had spent here in elementary school. Pac-man and pizza. Before Carly. Before frenemies. Before life hit them both in the face. He swallowed his tears and headed to the back of the room, which seemed so much smaller than it had in second grade. The glowing neon exit sign stood propped up against the wall beside the doorframe, long forgotten, along with the rest of the arcade and the memories it held secret.

He pushed open the rusty back door and walked out into the overgrown side yard that stopped abruptly at a chain-link fence five, feet from the doorstep. Freddie stepped forward and began to climb over the fence, praying to all that was holy that he wouldn't just break down and cry when he finally set foot in a backyard he hadn't seen in seven years.

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><p><strong>Review? <strong>


	5. Chapter 4

Sam took one last look at the sleeping boy in her bed before switching off the lights and quietly shutting the door.

Tony was one of the few people she could actually trust herself to love. It was complicated, really. But there was just something about the heart of a four-year-old that was programmed to admire anyone and inch taller than themselves. And that included Sam. Having someone out there that needed her wasn't something she'd felt in a while.

It was uncomfortable at first, but she'd grown accustomed to the warm feeling that obscured her vicious nature every time Tony or Bernardo crossed her mind. Carly and Freddie hadn't noticed her change in personality too much, but that was probably for the best. She hadn't told Freddie about her mother's new relationship until a few days ago. And she hadn't wanted to.

It just kind of...happened. That's how things tended to go with the two of them. They just kind of _ended up _with Carly. They just kind of _ended up_ making a web show. They just kind of _ended up_ kissing. They just kind of _ended up_ dating. They just kind of _ended up_ breaking up. They just kind of _ended up_ ignoring it.

But that was fine with her. Because he was another one of those people.

The ones she wasn't afraid to love, or in this case, fall in love _with. _

Judging by the lack of noise from the television in the living room, her mother was probably still asleep. It was only noon, now that she thought about it. She was just trying to sleep off the hangover.

Normally, Sam would dismiss her mother's current emotional state as just another late night that ended in meaningless sex and a tipsy walk home that she would have no recollection of when she came to on the stairs the next morning. But she had changed. Sam had seen it. Bernardo walked into their lives and it was like he waved a magic wand that made all of her mother's flaws dissolve in the mushy, sickening, chick flick-type love that Sam knew the mismatched couple had. And she was convinced they still had it.

She shook her head and tried to dismiss any positive thoughts related to her mother. She was supposed to be mad at her, after all. Because of her, the two most important people in her life were nearly gone. Evil mother. Terrible. She was a bad person.

Come on, Sam, she thought to herself. Where's that hate that always came so easily when she heard her mother's name? She used to hate her so much she would run away for days on end. But ever since Bernardo and Tony showed up and worked their magic, Sam had grown fond of her 'new mother'. And yeah, she missed that side of her that had been hidden away after the break up, but Sam knew that it was the same person. She couldn't bring herself to hate her mother anymore. It just didn't seem right.

Sam closed the pocket door between the living room and the kitchen and turned around.

"Hey," said a voice from the back door as a man emerged from the shadows. Sam's heart leapt and she grabbed the closest hard object, a potato, and threw it at the impostor. By the time he had stepped into the light of the kitchen and Sam realized her mistake, it was too late. The potato flew past Freddie as he jumped out of the way, eyes wide, checking to make sure he hadn't walked into the wrong house by mistake.

"Don't sneak up on me like that. You don't know how hard I throw and next time you might not be so lucky. I might actually aim." she warned, waiting for her heart to slow down. Sam didn't live in the safest neighborhood in Seattle, so when someone walks into your house unannounced, it's best to defend yourself first and think later, when you're sure your safety is no longer in question.

Freddie let out a nervous chuckle and nodded because, unfortunately, he did know how hard she could throw, and if he hadn't moved, he would be stuck with an icepack in some weird places. He picked up the potato and placed it on the counter like it was a bomb set to go off any second, all the while keeping his eyes on her. She turned to the fridge and started pulling out the makings of lunch for the four of them.

"So you made it, huh? I thought you'd get mugged on the way or something. What a shame." she said, her head buried in the back of the fridge, hunting for the salsa. Freddie laughed and hoisted himself up on the countertop.

"Thanks Sam, but you're forgetting that I grew up here, too. I'm not as clueless as you think." he pointed out, referring to their grade-school days.

"Whatever, nub." she mumbled, closing the fridge and setting the salsa container down among the other ingredients. Freddie's feet were suspended above the kitchen floor by a few feet and he swung them back and forth, wincing when he hit the cabinet's sharp corner.

"So...what do you want me to do?" he asked, rubbing the scratch that was appearing on his ankle from the cabinet corner.

"Oh, right. Could you go check on Tony?" she asked. "He should be asleep in my room. It's the last-"

"-room on the right. I remember." he smiled, and hopped off the countertop. She turned back to the sink and started getting lunch ready as he shut the pocket door behind him.

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><p>Freddie closed the pocket door behind him and began to walk down the carpeted hall that led to Sam's bedroom. The house was completely quiet. The lights were turned off. If it wasn't for the steady stream of sunlight from the windows, he wouldn't have been able to tell the difference between night and day. Overall, the house was serene and peaceful. Not the type of place he'd expect to produce a demon like his best friend, but he wasn't going to dwell on the origins of her psychotic tendencies. After all, he didn't need to. They were about to be made clear.<p>

He heard it before he felt it. The swishing sound of something being swung through the air. A soft thud as it made contact with its target followed by the shattering of glass. The pain that followed was difficult to describe. It was more of a taste than a feeling. Something close to a mixture of cardboard, dust, and blood. Amorphous blue and black shapes clouded his vision and he fought not to pass out. He was aware of a high-pitched yelp and almost laughed at the ridiculous noise, if he hadn't realized that it had come from him.

He heard someone calling from the kitchen and the sound of footsteps fast approaching. Objects began to appear around him as he slowly got his bearings. He was sitting on the carpet, back against the wall. A woman in a bathrobe was standing over him, the bottom of a shattered vase in her hand. Little colored pieces of glass littered the floor. His clothes. His hair. Her slippers. She raised the vase and moved in for another strike, but was stopped by the approaching footsteps.

"Mom! What are you doing? Are you insane?" Oh. So that's why Sam is the way she is. Must be genetics. "Put that down!" Then she turned to me and I managed a weak chuckle. "If you want to remain intact, I suggest you don't move. You're covered in broken glass."

"You think I don't know that?" he snorted, trying to figure out a way to ease the pain in his head without moving anything.

"Just making sure, Nub. You're known for doing some pretty stupid crap. Mom, it's okay. He's a friend. Why don't you go back to sleep?"

Pam nodded and turned back to the sofa, easily hiding her embarrassment behind her groggy, after-nap eyes. Sam sighed and turned back to Freddie.

"I could just leave you here..." she said, thinking out loud. She stopped and laughed when she saw his desperate expression. "Wait here. I'm going to get a bowl to put all the shards in." Freddie managed to make an affirmative sounding grunt, being too terrified at this point to move even his lips, and watched her walk away and come back with a bowl. She placed it at his side, carefully picking up the shards that had littered the carpet first before beginning to remove them from his hair.

"It's not too bad. Don't worry. You actually could have moved. I was just messing with you." she smirked and Freddie rolled his eyes, cursing himself for not figuring that out on his own.

"When are you not messing with me?" he asked, letting out a breathy laugh as she brushed a piece of glass as small as a splinter from one of his eyelashes and into the bottom of the bowl.

"That," she said, squinting to make sure she had cleared his hair of any and all glass, "is a good question."

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><p><strong>Review? Even if you're pissed off at me for the lapse in updates? Pleeeeeeeaaaaaase?<strong>


	6. Chapter 5

"When are you not messing with me?" he asked, letting out a breathy laugh as she brushed a piece of glass as small as a splinter from one of his eyelashes and into the bottom of the bowl.

"That," she said, squinting to make sure she had cleared his hair of any and all glass, "is a good question." She sighed and her eyes lost their focus, leaving her caught staring at the stitching on the seam of Freddie's t-shirt. She'd never admit it, but she missed the days when she could just be Sam and he could just be Freddie. They wouldn't have to skirt around the Seddie hype from the fans. They wouldn't have to worry about what Carly would think about this or that. There were no crazed fangirls stalking them in the park. But neither one of them had felt that much simplicity since elementary school. Freddie's mouth twitched, not sure if it was okay to smile. He reached out, resting his hand on hers and drawing her out of her thoughts.

"So," he asked, trying to patch up the awkward stillness in the hallway, "am I free to move?" Sam nodded and picked up the bowl, climbing to her feet.

"Yeah. I'll, um, I'll vacuum the carpet when I get a chance, so just don't go barefoot until then and you should be fine."

"Okay." Freddie nodded, turning around to face Sam's bedroom door. He listened to the sound of her footsteps as she walked into the kitchen and set the bowl down. With a smile and a shake of his head, Freddie turned the knob and quietly crept into the room he had spent many a summer in. But what he saw was nothing like what he remembered.

A cheap hotel room would have seemed homey in comparison.

The window was covered by a couple of towels hanging from a small curtain rod, letting in a triangle of light that came to life on her bedroom floor whenever the wind would blow the towels back and forth.

Her bed was shoved awkwardly in a corner, not really aligned with any of the walls. At the foot of her bed were stacks of cardboard boxes. It was too dark to read the labels so he sat down on top of one. There was really no other place to sit. No desk. No chair. Just lots and lots of carpet. Not even a bedside table or a bookshelf.

The room smelled of sleep.

The air was thick and humid and, if he listened closely, he could hear the faint breathing coming from the four year old resting under what looked like enough blankets to cover a football field.

White walls. White carpet. No posters. Nothing was left out on the floor. Even the blankets were pretty nondescript looking. This was not the kind of place he'd expect the Queen of Slobs to spend her nights in. He let out a loud breath, just to fill the thick silence that engulfed her bedroom. But something in the corner of her room caught his eye. A door. It was painted ivory with little violet details around the corners and a brass doorknob. He stood up and began walking towards it, intrigued by the only interesting thing in Sam's room. He was halfway there when he felt his foot stop short and bump into something solid, followed by his knee, then a loud sound of things rattling in containers and boxes falling to the floor. He scrambled to rebuild the tower of cardboard boxes, turning them so that the sides with the Freddie-shaped dents were hidden by the foot of her bed. He froze when he heard a rustling noise behind him.

"Sammy?" came a groggy voice from the bed. He turned and saw Tony sitting up and rubbing his eyes, trying to kick away the blanket cocoon he had been left in. Their eyes met and the boy let out a shriek that might have broken windows. Freddie's eyes widened and he hurried to explain himself.

"No no no no I'm Sam's friend! Stop screaming! I'm not going to hurt you! SAM!" he screamed, waving his arms in a way that was meant to appear friendly to the little boy but that probably appeared hostile. Tony shrank down beneath the covers and hid when Freddie gave up hope that his best frenemy would come to his assistance. Freddie backed up to the closet door and opened it, eyes darting around frantically for a diversion to calm Tony down. His eyes settled on an old guitar in the corner, behind another couple of boxes. He didn't know Sam played guitar. Freddie picked it up and brought it out of the closet.

Apparently Freddie's words had finally sunk in and the boy realized that Freddie was less of a threat than the usual things that emerged from closets while he slept. He was watching Freddie warily, but his eyes brightened when he caught sight of the instrument in his hand. Freddie took that as his cue to continue. He sat down indian style on the carpet and stretched his fingers out into the awkward shape of Bm and let his thumb fall, hitting the strings softly. His face contorted, trying to hold in his laughter. The sound resonating from the guitar sounded more like a dying cat than Bm. Tony, though, made no attempt to hide his amusement.

"You suck." he laughed, laughing so hard that he fell backwards onto his pillow. Freddie couldn't help but chuckle at his reaction, but he tried his best to act offended.

"It wasn't my fault. The guitar did it, not me."

"Yeah right." he laughed, calming down enough to sit up and watch him again. Freddie played the first string once and then twisted one of the knobs at the top until the note sounded more familiar.

"What are you doing?" Tony asked, climbing out of bed and dragging one of the blankets across the floor so he could sit in front of the guitar.

"I'm tuning it." Freddie said, "Sam's guitar is sick. That's why it made funny noise. So I'm helping it get better."

"Like a doctor." he said, his eyes lighting up with understanding.

"Exactly. See?" Freddie said, playing Bm again. "All better."

"Can I try?"

"Uh, sure. Just strum. Like I'm doing with this hand."

"No, silly. I want to _play _it."

"Okay. How about I give you something easier. And I'll strum."

"Okay."

"Here. Put this finger right here." "Perfect. Now listen."

"Cool!" "Play a song."

"Um, okay."

"Hurry up."

Freddie laughed and started playing random chords.

"You need words, stupid!" Tony laughed. Sam was having a bad influence on this kid, Freddie thought, but he pushed that to the back of his mind and tried to come up with lyrics on the spot.

_"Well, I'm going to sing a song" Okay, not bad, but now what?_

_"...about a snake that was six feet long" Sure, why not._

_"...named Slim Shady of Lake Billlabong" Uh, all right then. Crap, now what?_

_"...bleep bloop blop" Great and now we're settling on robot noises. _

_"GUITAR SOLO!" _Freddie sang, playing whatever came to mind. Once he had played every chord he could remember, and some that he didn't even know existed, he stopped and set the guitar down next to him. Tony was laughing, still trying to imitate the robot noises. Freddie smiled.

"Come one. Let's go see if Sam has lunch ready."

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><p><strong>I'm honestly not too happy with this chapter. I wrote it without looking at what I was writing and then I proofread once for typos. So it's not my best work. Review anyways? And Happy Christmas Eve! <strong>


	7. Chapter 6

If you lean your head against the window while the car is moving, it tickles your nose. Sam decided, after a few minutes of this, that she'd better sit up because her nose really tickled. And it's hard to fall asleep in the car if your nose tickles. Besides, the neon lights of downtown Seattle just wouldn't allow for any shut-eye on the way to her house. Neither would the constant static from the car radio. The mattress commercial ended and the first notes of a Twin Atlantic song filled the car. Freddie turned the volume up and sat back in the drivers seat as they came to a full halt behind a line of brake lights.

"So that's where he lives?" Freddie asked. They had just dropped Tony off at the homeless shelter with Maritza, one of the staff there who Tony had latched on to. Bernie wasn't expected back there for an hour or two more. He had been out looking for work and had called to tell Sam to just drop Tony off instead of waiting for him to come pick him up. Now they were on their way back to Sam's house for a bite to eat before they would both head over to the Bushwell for iCarly rehearsal.

"Correction: that's where he sleeps and occasionally showers. If he actually lived there, they wouldn't be homeless." Sam pointed out. Freddie could hear the vulnerability that was thinly masked by the edge in her voice.

"Right. That's got to be tough on you, to see them both going through something like this." Freddie hesitated. "Are you okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" she challenged.

"That's a horrible question, Sam."

"Thank you. Moving on. Can you change the station?" Sam asked with a hint of irritation in her tone. The song had ended, filling the car with nothing but staticky interference. Freddie laughed but obliged, turning the dial and searching the waves of static for something that wasn't a mattress or insurance commercial.

He finally settled on some alternative independent station that refused to ever air a commercial and somehow was able to pay for their air time.

Freddie looked over at Sam's face and saw that her eyes were closed and she was leaning her head against the cold glass window once again. She looked like she was asleep, but he knew better.

"Sam. Are you okay? Please just answer me. Truthfully." A heavy silence filled the car and the question hung in the air like electricity before a storm. She pulled her feet up underneath her and took her head off the window, smoothing out any curls that were misplaced by her fake nap. Sam sighed and Freddie waited for a reply.

"No." was all she said.

"No, you're not okay or no you won't answer me?" he asked, knowing that that simple word was all he was going to get out of her, at least for now.

"That's up to you."

The rest of the drive was made in silence.

They arrived back at Sam's house to find her mother awake and making dinner. Not anything extravagant. All it involved was putting a frozen lasagna in the oven, but it was a step in the right direction. The two said a quick hello, poking their heads into the kitchen to acknowledge the baking miracle taking place, and then retreated to her bedroom.

Freddie messed around on her guitar for a while, willingly subjecting himself to her criticism for every mistake he made. She just sat on her bed, throwing down the occasional insult, and texting back and forth with Bernie to check on when he would be back at the shelter.

Heartbreak was clouding the thoughts of the woman in the kitchen, and uncertain emotions were stirring in the hearts and minds of the two teenagers.

A foreboding calm settled over the evening.

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><p><strong>What did you think of the ending? It sounded a little bit too...oh, I don't know...bizarre for my style. But lo and behold, it came off of my fingertips so whatever...<strong>

**Feel like sending me a review? The next chapter will not only rock your socks, but it will blow them halfway to the moon :D**


	8. Chapter 7

**Most of the story is in Freddie's POV but I felt like this chapter HAD to be in Sam's...for reasons that will become clear at the end of the chapter ;D**

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><p>"Sam, where are you going?" Mom yelled from the kitchen when she heard the front door open.<p>

"Carly's. I'll be back tonight." I shouted back.

There was a pause, and Mom yelled back, but in a much harsher tone, "No. Get back here." I stopped and took a deep breath before closing the door and turning around to face the kitchen. She walked up to me, drying her hands on a dishtowel and paying no regard to the boy standing awkwardly on the tattered-to-the-point-of-no-existence welcome mat. "I want you to stay here tonight," she decided with a sense of finality in her voice.

"Since when have you wanted that?" I scoffed.

"Don't give me that attitude. But seriously, it wouldn't kill you to spend some time under your own roof for once."

"It might." I mumbled.

She heard me, but chose to ignore it. You have to choose your battles, I guess. "Why are you always going to that girl's house, anyways? Is this place not good enough or something?"

My eyebrows shot up and my posture straightened. It wouldn't take a genius to figure out that I was pissed. "First of all, 'that girl' is one of my best friends. And second, yeah. This place sucks. Half the time we don't even have electricity because you can't keep on top of the bills!" I accused her as my voice rose steadily in volume. Her expression changed from one of absolute fury to one of pain, and, for a split second, I actually felt bad.

"Give me a break. This is your home! I'm your mother! How do you think I feel with you practically living at her house and just stopping in here for a visit every now and then?"

"At least I'm not getting in the way of you and your clients. And don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about. You call them boyfriends but we both know what's going on here. The whole town does. And it's disgusting!" I yelled. Freddie was cowering in the corner. I don't blame him. I can get pretty scary. It's must be genetic or something because the fights between me and my mom have threatened to become the next world war on multiple occasions.

She shook her head. "You don't understand. Do you know how much I do for you? It's not easy! I'm a single mom with twin teenage girls! One of them has a ridiculously expensive tuition because she's some sort of young Einstein, and the other is on parole! I didn't choose for any of this to happen."

"No, but that doesn't mean you couldn't do anything about it. We were doing just fine while Bernie was here. But you had to go and mess that up, huh? He _loved _you. I have no idea why, but he did. How many times are you going to be able to say that someone loved you? I know dad didn't. I know Melanie doesn't. And I sure as hell know that I don't. I hate you." Did I really hate her? Everyone says they hate their parents, but no one actually means it...am I the exception? Is my mother really that bad? She threw the towel down on the ground and stepped towards me, arm pulled back, palm spread open. I knew what was coming and I refused to give her what she wanted. No pain. I wouldn't show it. I wouldn't turn. I wouldn't even close my eyes.

"You ungrateful bitch!" she yelled, starting to bring her arm forward, her open palm ready to make contact with my face. Freddie's hand was around her wrist before I even knew he had ran over. I gave him a warning glance telling him this wasn't something he wanted to get caught up in, but he ignored me completely.

"Stop it! Just shut up! Listen to me, both of you!" Freddie turned toward me with a look I had never seen, at least not in his eyes before. "You have no idea what sort of things your mom has to do just to pay for this house. She puts up with a lot of crap for you. Even if she is horrible at showing it, she does love you. So give her a little slack. She hasn't been dealt the greatest hand here and you know that."

Then he turned to my mother. "And you. Did you seriously just call your daughter a bitch? And I can't believe you would have gone so far as to hit her. Really? I know all this isn't easy for you but I'm sick of seeing Sam caught in the middle of all your failed relationships. And now I'm seeing it first hand and it's taking everything in me not to punch you in the face! Your supposed to be an example for her so that she doesn't make the same mistakes as you have. At this rate, all you've taught her is that if she lives the exact opposite life as you, she'll be fine. You had a perfect opportunity for a better life and then you kicked him out! Why did you kick him out? Oh that's right, because he told you that he loved you!"

Freddie took a deep breath and the anger softened into something more like irritation. "Look, Ms. Puckett, all I'm trying to say is that you're not used to all this 'love' stuff and that's normal. But you need to know that just because you're in love doesn't mean that you're weak. If anything it means you're stronger because you have someone else by your side. And I know she tries not to show it, but this is really hard on Sam. She just needs a dad. Not a dozen different men sleeping with her mother every month." He stopped and shook his head. "You guys both have some serious commitment issues." Freddie said, running a hand through his unruly brown hair. "Come on, Sam. We're already running late for rehearsal."

I followed him out the front door and into the car, all the while existing in some sort of numb state as his words played over and over in my mind. I didn't really notice the slam of the screen door or my mother yelling after me as I climbed into the passenger seat. I don't really remember Freddie turning the car on or backing out of the driveway. I don't remember us fighting traffic downtown or stopping at the Inside-Out Burger drive-thru for the milkshake that seemed to spontaneously appear in my hand. It wasn't until he spoke, that I emerged from the trance his outburst had put me in.

"Please say something?" That was all he said. Then the car fell back into silence. I wanted to say something. I really did. I was just afraid I'd say the wrong thing. My mind hadn't yet made sense of the strange emotion that I'd finally decided to acknowledge. For years, I'd been pushing it to the back of my heart but there was something about what he had said that stirred old emotions and brought it from the back of my heart to the front of my mind.

"Anything?" Then more silence. I could hear the pain and the worry in his tone and it _hurt _me so much to remain silent. But I had the strangest feeling that it would hurt me more to speak up. I knew it wasn't true, but it was the way I had wired my brain. If I opened my mouth, that ridiculous subject that I hadn't quite named yet (although I had a feeling, or a fear, that I knew what it was) would end up tumbling out with as little eloquence as possible and I would ruin my chances. But chances at what?

"Are you mad at me?" he asked, no longer masking the hurt and the worry. I tried to shake my head but the neurons didn't seem to want to cooperate with me. Then a strange thought surfaced: Had I moved since I had gotten in the car? Even the slightest flinch? It had to have been at least 15 minutes. Was there something wrong with me? Was I sick or hurt or something? Then it hit me like a load of bricks. Everything made sense. I was in l-

"Okay. You don't have to talk. I'm sorry if I said anything back there that you didn't want me to. I'll just…shut up now." he decided, apologizing for the outburst that now seemed irrelevant. I opened my mouth to speak.

"I love you."

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><p><strong>Oooh cliff hanger! Send me a review and let me know what you thought! I really appreciate hearing from you guys.<strong>


	9. Chapter 8

_"I love you."_

What in the world..?

The car jolts as Freddie accidentally hits the brakes. Sam feels her face begin to heat up at the realization of what she has just admitted to. Freddie says nothing, but he pulls over to side of the road and takes the keys out of the ignition. Neither teenager moves. Their faces are flooded with the light of a passing truck, then they are plunged back into darkness, leaving them with purple and grey spots dancing across their eyes.

Sam doesn't know what to expect. Every moment of silence feels like an hour. She put her heart on the table and it seems as if he is sitting there, examining it like it's one of his hard drives, turning her words over and over in his head, trying to figure out why on earth they would be coming out of Sam's mouth. And why they were directed at him. The darkness is hiding the blush that has crept up her face; however, the dead silence isn't too helpful in concealing the sound of her pounding heart. Freddie makes some sort of strangled noise that sounds like the beginning of a word, but then he stops. Sam can tell, just by the awkwardness that is radiating from the drivers seat, that he doesn't know what to say. Neither does she.

"Really?"

He's going to look back on this moment later in life and wish he had worded his doubts with a tad more eloquence than 'really?' Seriously, if there is ever a time to be sappy, it's now. This moment calls for a poetic profession of emotion, whether it be good or bad; not a dim-witted reply like that.

"Do you think I'm joking?" Sam asks. Her voice sounds fragile and sad. Vulnerable. Everything about this is so un-Sam-like that it's rather distracting to him. Love. Honesty. Openness. None of it adds up in his mind. Abrasive. Manipulative. Sadistic. That sounds more like the Sam he knows.

Or does it? Is it possible that he only knows the Sam that she shows to him? To everyone? Is this new persona the girl who hides underneath the mask of an eclectic criminal record, poor grades, and a sarcastic sense of humor? Is it the human side of her that she is too afraid to let anyone else see?

So why is she showing him now? And why does he feel like this? Why does he feel this strange burning sensation in his chest? Why can't he contain the smile that's been growing persistently brighter since he pulled over?

He hears a sigh and his attention is brought back to the girl beside him. She pulls the sleeves of her sweatshirt over her hands, crosses her arms, and puts her feet up on the dash. He stares at the laces, which he could have sworn were white the first time she wore them, trying to imagine what kinds of filthy things they must have been drug through to turn such a non-descript color. He tries to think of a way to turn his emotions into words for her, but he doesn't know what his emotions are just yet.

But he does know what his emotions are _not._

He knows for a fact that he is _not_ in love with her. That's not to say he won't be in the future, but right now, he hasn't quite fallen in love with her.

He knows for a fact that he does _not_ hate her. And he knows for a fact that he will _never_ hate her. Not even if she snaps and goes on some insane killing spree. It just isn't an emotion he is capable of feeling towards her.

Freddie knows for a fact that she _is_ funny and beautiful and spontaneous and captivating and charismatic and way out of his league.

And now, he knows for a fact that she is in love with _him_. And while that hasn't entirely settled into his brain, it has settled into his heart and is currently pumping through his blood stream, filling every square inch of him with "Sam is in love with _Freddie_".

So he opens his mouth and hopes for the best.

"I don't love you," he begins, and Sam tightens the hold she has on her shoulders. Freddie notices this and quickly continues, trying to move away from the statement that probably just felt like a blow to face, "but I do like you. A lot. And maybe I will love you. I just need...time. To sort this out, okay? This is all pretty unexpected." He waits. She doesn't move. Another car drives by, and in the passing light he sees the tears that are staining her face. Then back to darkness. She sniffs and then silence. All Freddie can do is wait for a reply. His heartbeat quickens when she finally speaks up.

"Sorry. I nodded, but I guess you can't see that, can you..." she mumbles, sounding embarrassed. Freddie can't help but laugh. He reaches across the center console and grasps her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Despite not being able to see her in the darkness, he leans across and their lips meet halfway. Sam's heart is beating so hard that she is sure it's turned into one loud, continuous boom. Freddie is smiling as he pulls away. But their hands are still grasped tight and she gives his a tug, pulling him towards her. Freddie gets the message.

He reaches over and pushes the button on his seatbelt, slipping out from under it and leaning closer to Sam. He ignores the inevitable bruising he is getting from the center console and chooses not to worry about the stiff neck he will have in about 15 minutes or so.

Sam's lips are all he can think about. They aren't soft and smooth and girly. Of course not, he thinks, this is Sam we're talking about. They're chapped and rough and he loves the feeling of her lips as they softly trace over his. Or tickle the soft place where the underside of his chin meets his neck. Or the edge of his ear. Or his eyelids. And when this becomes too much, he wants nothing more than to feel those rough, chapped lips part for his tongue so he can explore the contours of her mouth, run his tongue across her teeth, tickle her gums, scrape the underside of her tongue, and caress the roof of her mouth.

Sam's hands wander from their place on the armrest, up to his cheeks, into his hair, down to his neck, his arms, his chest, just trying to memorize every inch of him incase he slips away and the memory is all she has left. Her fingernails scrape the back of his neck, tangling themselves in his hair and pushing her mouth onto his more forcefully. Freddie's moan tickles her lips and she smiles, bringing one hand to his left arm, tracing circles on his biceps as his lips trail down her face and onto her neck, eliciting a symphony of noises from the blonde who is now on his lap.

She gasps as his tongue flicks over a spot on her neck, causing Freddie to smirk. His hands slip from her shoulders to her waist, pulling her impossibly closer so that every inch of their bodies are touching. Sam captures his lips once again, and rocks her hips into his. Freddie lets out a loud grunt and bucks his hips in response.

From that point on, the two teenagers become a hot mess of t-shirts riding up too far and fingers in belt loops and back pockets. Until Sam's phone rings. They pull apart reluctantly as she reaches for her phone, which has fallen to the floor. Freddie slides carefully back into his seat and buckles up, trying to catch his breath before he has to start the car.

"Yeah Carls, we'll be there in a couple minutes." Sam says breathlessly over the phone.

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><p>Pam wipes her sleeve across her eyes one more time, grimacing when she thinks about how atrocious her makeup must be by this point, in an attempt to erase her face of the hour's worth of tears.<p>

Everyone has that moment as a teenager when they are convinced that, whatever happens, they will be better than their parents. They won't make the same mistakes. They'll be the perfect, PTA, minivan-driving, soccer mom with an adoring husband and 2 kids and a white picket fence with a perfect green lawn behind it.

She remembers it. The day she swore never to make the same mistakes her mother had made. But she failed. Not only did she make the same mistakes, she made more. Now what was she? The middle-aged, washed out blonde who could rock your world for the night in order to put dinner on the table and pay last month's rent. And then she falls in love with the perfect guy who gives her the opportunity she has always wanted: to turn her life around completely. And what did she do? Chicken out. And now her own daughter hates her. Yup, everything went according to plan...not.

She stands up and crosses the room to the phone mounted on the wall. Her fingers instinctively dial the number she has engraved on her heart and she waits impatiently, counting the rings on the end of the line.

"Hello?"

"Hi Bernie. It's me, Pam."

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><p><strong>You have no idea how pissed I am...I wrote this and it was AMAZING and then I tried to save it and my internet died so I lost it all. That's what I get for using doc manager as my own personal google docs, huh? Ah well. This version pales in comparison to what I had, but let me know how you think it turned out?<strong>

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><p><strong>UPDATE!: I think this story can end here. It seems like a sufficient ending to me, even though it's relatively open-ended. If I add another chapter, it will turn into a sappy mess. And both the Seddie and the PamBernie plots are satisfied this way. So I think I'll end it here, but keep it on your alerts just in case (maybe). **

**Thanks for reading! **

**Now go kick a cow! **


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